2. TRUTH
TRUTH
The smell of hair products and hot combs hit me the moment I walked through the door.
The salon Raven worked at was small but immaculate—three styling chairs, two dryer stations, a shampoo bowl in the back, and walls covered in before-and-after photos of her work.
The radio was playing Mary J. Blige, and two other stylists were working on clients, their conversations overlapping in that comfortable way salons had.
Raven looked up from her station and smiled when she saw me.
“Look who finally showed up,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair. “I was about to give your slot away.”
“I texted you that I was running late,” I said, settling into the chair.
“Five minutes late is late. Fifteen minutes late is disrespectful.” But she was smiling as she said it, already running her fingers through my hair, assessing what needed to be done.
I’d been dreading this appointment all week.
Not because I didn’t want my hair done—God knows I needed it—but because Raven had a way of reading me that made it impossible to hide anything.
And I had a lot to hide right now.
I was falling for Amai, and I liked Kaisen too.
Amai was so hot and cold that it drove me insane.
One minute we were connecting, and the next, he was ghosting me.
Meanwhile, Kaisen checked on me, called and texted consistently.
I couldn’t miss out on a good man, hoping Amai would choose to toss this contract and make us a family.
I mean, it would be an unorthodox one, but a family nonetheless.
All of it sat heavy in my chest, but I wasn’t ready to talk about any of it yet.
“So,” Raven said, sectioning my hair with practiced efficiency. “You look better than last time I saw you. Less like death.”
“The morning sickness is getting better,” I said carefully.
“Mm-hmm.” She sprayed my hair with water, her movements quick and precise. “And how’s the baby daddy?”
I tensed.
“He’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Raven—”
“I’m just asking.” She met my eyes in the mirror. “You been real quiet about him lately. That’s all.”
I didn’t respond.
Couldn’t.
Because if I started talking about Amai, I’d have to talk about everything else, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
Raven seemed to sense it because she let it drop.
For about five minutes.
“You eating?” she asked, combing through a section of my hair.
“Yeah.”
“You lying?”
“A little.”
She laughed—a sharp, knowing sound. “At least you honest about being a liar.”
I smiled despite myself.
This was Raven. Sharp-tongued, skeptical, always ready to call bullshit. But underneath all that hardness was someone who cared more than she wanted to admit.
We fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—her working, me half-dozing in the chair, the salon noise washing over us like white noise.
I was almost relaxed.
Almost.
Then I saw it.
Through the salon window, Raven’s white Tesla was pulling out of the parking spot.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
With no one in the driver’s seat.
I sat up straight.
“Raven.”
“Hmm?”
“Who’s in your car?”
She glanced up, confused. “What?”
“Your car.” I pointed toward the window. “It’s leaving.”
Raven’s head whipped around so fast I heard her neck crack.
“What the fuck—”
She dropped the comb and bolted for the door.
I scrambled out of the chair and followed her, my heart pounding.
By the time we got outside, the Tesla was already halfway down the block, moving at a steady fifteen miles per hour, completely driverless.
“No, no, no, no, no—” Raven was running after it, her braids flying behind her, her voice rising with every step. “Come back! COME BACK!”
The car didn’t stop.
It turned the corner with eerie precision and disappeared from view.
Raven stopped in the middle of the street, breathing hard, staring at the empty space where her car had been.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked, catching up to her.
She didn’t answer.
Just pulled out her phone with shaking hands and dialed.
I stood there, watching her face cycle through disbelief, anger, and something that looked dangerously close to despair.
“Yes, this is Raven Renois,” she said into the phone, her voice tight. “My car just drove itself away from my salon, and I need to know—”
She stopped.
Listened.
Her face dropped.
“A repo?” Her voice cracked. “You can’t just… I didn’t even get a warning…”
More listening.
“I’m behind on my payment?” She laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “I know how far behind I am. I’m asking how you can just take my car without—”
She stopped again.
Closed her eyes.
“Fine,” she said finally. “Fine. Where do I pick it up?”
She ended the call and stood there for a long moment, staring at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.
“Raven—”
“It’s a repo,” she said flatly. “Apparently, Tesla can just… drive your car back to the dealership if you’re behind on payments. Some new feature they added last year. The craziest shit I’ve seen.”
I stared at her.
“That’s the most dystopian shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Tell me about it.” She turned and started walking back toward the salon, her shoulders rigid with humiliation.
I followed her inside.
The other stylists had stopped working, their clients forgotten, everyone staring at us with wide eyes.
“Show’s over,” Raven snapped. “Get back to work, shit.”
They did, but the energy in the salon had shifted.
Everyone knew.
Everyone had seen.
Raven sat down heavily in her styling chair and put her head in her hands.
I sat back in my chair and waited.
After a long moment, she looked up at me in the mirror.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ask me why I didn’t tell you I needed help.”
But I was going to ask anyway.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed help?”
She laughed—that same bitter sound from outside. “Because I don’t need help. I got this.”
“Raven—”
“I got this,” she repeated, her voice harder now. “I been handling my shit since I was sixteen years old. I don’t need nobody—”
“How much are you behind?”
She went quiet.
“Raven.”
“Twenty-five hundred,” she said finally. “Give or take.”
I processed that.
“And you didn’t tell me because…”
“Because I’m not the one who needs saving!” Her voice rose, sharp and defensive. “That’s you. That’s always been you. I’m the one who has her shit together. I’m the one who—”
She stopped.
Looked away.
“I got the building,” she said quietly. “For the new shop. I signed the lease three months ago. But the build-out costs more than I thought, and I been taking my car note to buy equipment when I can afford it. A chair here, a dryer there. I thought I could catch up before they noticed.”
“But they noticed.”
“Yeah.” She laughed again, but this time it sounded more like a sob. “They noticed.”
I looked at her—really looked at her.
Raven, who’d been giving me shit since the day I told her about the surrogacy.
Raven, who’d called me stupid for getting involved with a rich man I barely knew.
Raven, who’d warned me I was catching feelings and setting myself up for heartbreak.
Raven, who’d been struggling this whole time and hadn’t said a word.
I reached into my purse and pulled out my checkbook.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
Just wrote out a check for $3,500 and tore it off.
Held it out to her.
She stared at it like it was a snake.
“Truth—”
“Take it.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” I kept my hand extended. “You helped me when I had nothing. You were right by my side after my first round of egg transplantation didn’t take. You been doing my hair for free since the divorce. Now it’s my turn.”
“This is different—”
“How?”
“Because—” She stopped. Swallowed hard. “Because I’m supposed to be the one who has it together. I’m supposed to be the one helping you, not the other way around.”
“Says who?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
I stood up and walked over to her chair.
Pressed the check into her hand.
“Catch up on your payments,” I said quietly. “Get ahead if you can. And when we’re done here, I want to see the new shop.”
Raven looked down at the check.
Then up at me.
Then back down at the check.
And then she started crying.
Not the pretty kind of crying—the ugly kind. The kind that came from somewhere deep and broken, the kind that had been held back for too long.
I wrapped my arms around her and held on.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for being such a bitch to you about everything.”
“You weren’t a bitch.”
“Yes, I was.” She pulled back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I been giving you so much shit about the surrogacy, and the baby daddy, and all of it. The whole time, I been drowning and too proud to say anything.”
“You were protecting me,” I said. “That’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always done.”
“But you didn’t need protecting.” She laughed through the tears. “You been handling your business this whole time, and I been treating you like you stupid.”
“I am stupid,” I said. “I’m pregnant by a man I barely know, carrying a baby I’m supposed to give away, and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him, even though he has a whole other life.”
Raven’s eyes went wide.
“You love him?”
I winced.
“Long story.”
“Truth!”
“Later,” I said quickly. “Right now, we’re talking about you and your new shop, which I want to see. Today.”
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she folded the check carefully and tucked it into her bra.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay.”
She stood and grabbed her comb.
“But first I’m finishing your hair,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Because you look a mess, and I got a reputation to maintain.”
I smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I sat back in the chair and watched her work in the mirror.
Her hands were still shaking slightly, but her face had softened.
The hardness was still there—it always would be with Raven—but underneath it now was something softer.
Gratitude.
Relief.
And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of letting someone else carry some of the weight.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, not looking at me.
“You’re welcome.”
We didn’t talk much after that.